


The galaxies in your eyes

by HashiHimee



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Feelings, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Minor Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka, fem!Hashirama, minor Jiraiya/Tsunade, minor Nara Shikamaru/Uzumaki Naruto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HashiHimee/pseuds/HashiHimee
Summary: "Do you think she’s asleep?" "Would you sleep in this room?"He made a movement of his head as if to indicate that the other was actually right.No one in their right mind would sleep in a room full of psychiatric patients; the fact that they were all there, however, implied that without a shadow of a doubt none of them were sane so perhaps the question was really superfluous.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nara Shikamaru/Uzumaki Naruto, Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. The worlds in her head

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!  
> Here it comes another AU.  
> This is dark, characters have issues.  
> This is not going to end well, as in absolutly no happy ending.  
> I have five chapters already written but I think this story will be around seven chapters long; this is not an easy story to write!  
> According to my working schedule I hope to be able to post weekly.  
> Please comment and let me know what do you think abot it!
> 
> -Hh

Madara didn’t think he had many problems; or rather, he didn’t think that the fact that his whole life revolved around Hashirama was a problem. She was _everything_ and that couldn’t be bad from his point of view. The judge and the doctors didn’t think so but almost ten years had passed and Madara had resigned himself to the fact that people thought differently. If you considered Hashirama things got more complicated, but only according to the doctors, not according to him. _Breathe, nothing’s changed._ Madara put on his new grey uniform and then retrieved the brush. _At least it’s comfortable, but it’s too hot. Hashirama should tie her hair._ He approached the bed where the girl remained with her eyes closed, _she should sleep more_ , and sat on the edge; he took her glasses from the bedside table and passed them to Hashirama in a gesture he had been doing for _over_ ten years and waited with the brush in his hands. Hashirama got up with her eyes still closed, put on her glasses, grabbed the brush and waited. _Gods, she’s perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Scar._ And Madara saw red. _Just breathe._ Hashirama waited completely naked with only her glasses on sitting cross-legged while Madara breathed heavily and clenched his fists and relaxed them rhythmically. _Just breathe._ Madara turned, gave her his shoulders and closed his eyes and the image of Hashirama hadn’t gone away, printed in his retina, in every cell of his body but Hashirama’s hands were in his hair and she was brushing it and so he could breathe.

-

The common room was exactly like all the ones they had already seen: windows, a couple of sofas, armchairs, chairs and tables; there was also a kind of kitchenette with jugs of coffee, tea, milk and juices and things to eat. _Champions’ breakfast, coffee’s gonna suck. Maybe Hashirama will get the juice today._ Hashirama set on top of the counter and he went to make her coffee. _Coffee, a bit of milk, sugar. Mix and take off the spoon. Not too hot._ Madara felt the eyes of the other people in the room studying them. _Just breathe._ After making his own coffee, he leaned against the counter next to Hashirama with his hip touching her thigh. _She’s hot too. She’s wearing shorts. The tattoo, they can see it. No. Just breathe._ He fisted his hand and then relaxed it. Hashirama was drinking the coffee _it’s pretty good_ with her eyes closed behind the tinted lenses of her glasses. _Nothing’s changed._ There were four other people in the room, all male, two blonde, one with black hair and one with almost white hair. The dark-haired guy got up from one of the chairs and approached silently. _There’s carpeting. Everywhere. I don’t like it._ He stared at them for a moment and then poured himself some tea; he sat on a chair in front of them and waited with his hands tightly around the paper cup. _Just breathe._ “You already know each other.” _Affirmation; he looks bored. Just breathe. They’re curious because we’re the new ones._ Madara did not move at all and Hashirama took another sip from her coffee. “I’m Itachi. I hope we all get along, we don’t want any accidents with the guards.” _Threat. Where are the dogs?_ Hashirama stretched out her lips in a tiny smile behind the edge of the cup with her eyes still closed and Madara clenched his fist again. “Nobody wants trouble, Shooting-star.” _Her voice._ Hashirama had answered in a calm tone but as if there was a hint of fun _the first impression, otherwise Jiraiya won’t give her what she wants_ but staying with her eyes closed; according to Madara her voice was like magic. She placed the cup on the counter, came down and walked towards the library; Madara with both cups followed her after a moment.

-

“I want them. Both of them. Did- did you see his lips? What about her legs?” Itachi just wanted Naruto to keep quiet; he hadn’t slept _what news_ but the newcomers had intrigued him _they’re a couple, why are they together? Why did they move them together? What does that mean?_ And Naruto wouldn’t stop talking now. _She called me Shooting-star. What does that mean? She kept her eyes closed the whole time. It takes Shikamaru._ “Naruto, where’s Shikamaru?” “In the room, I think. Itachi!” “Find him and then take care of it in the toilet thinking about them.” Itachi sighed and shrugged. _Cold, I don’t understand._ “Good morning. Hot water in the showers is over, just so you know.” “Fuck, Iruka! Fuck you! Why?! Shit!” _Silence is not a difficult concept._ Itachi took the book he had left on the armchair and then sat down on the floor near the window to wait for Shikamaru while Hidan kept screaming. “Hidan, if you don’t stop, the dogs will come.” “You want to fight ‘Dara? Your brother’s not here to save you now!” “You asshole, I’ll blow you up!” Itachi massaged his temple and then hissed coldly “Knock it off or you’ll both end up in detention and I’ll be the one who send you there.”

-

Ino knew that two new people had arrived and she was slightly agitated; interacting with others was difficult because they look at you and judge you and if you're not pretty enough or sweet enough or smart enough people don't like you and she just wanted to like and get along with the newcomers too. She knew nothing about them, like everyone else, but she certainly didn't expect to find them in the library at nine in the morning. One was a guy with long black hair tied up in a high ponytail and pale skin, handsome as a prince, muscular with broad shoulders and covered in a very light layer of sweat and was doing shirtless push-ups in front of the library couch; the other was a girl with long, chocolate-colored hair, big round glasses with silver frames and shaded blue lenses and a light pink pullover at least three sizes bigger, she looked thin and was sitting cross-legged on one of the sofas, with a book on her right knee and drinking from a paper cup. _They’re the newcomers_. Ino didn't know whether to be happy or not. Of course finally there was another girl and maybe they could be friends but she seemed too beautiful, and unapproachable, it seemed like she belonged to another world, _it seems that they both belong to another world_ , a kind of fairy with those glasses and light but sun-kissed skin, and Ino was already starting to cry because she was absolutely no match for the new girl and the others would forget about her and they would be happy with the newcomer and suddenly the floor was too close to her face. Ino curled up in a fetal position behind a shelf and kept crying. The only sound she heard was the furious beating of her heart, which was rumbling in her ears, so she didn't hear the two of them approach until the boy put his hand on her shoulder. _No! Away!_ Ino didn't understand what was going on, she just wanted to go back to her room and hope that no one would bother her so she could calmly process the whole situation and maybe cry again and throw up, that would make her feel better. The girl said something Ino didn't understand and the boy took her in his arms before heading to the common room. As soon as they entered Deidara and Naruto's screams came in, they even overcame her heartbeat and Ino began to feel what was happening around her again. The boy deposited her on one of the sofas and immediately Ino had his brothers at her side and she was held in Deidara's arms as Naruto yelled at the new guy. The girl didn't say anything, she didn't even seem to be upset by her brother's screams but the boy was clenching his fists hard and his knuckles were now very white and Ino was convinced that Naruto would be beaten today because it was clear that the new boy was getting more and more angry and then suddenly everything disappeared. "You should drink something hot, Sweetie. You'll feel better." The girl had spoken to her, _to me_ , and then she turned around and together with the new boy they left the room without adding anything else. Quiet. Nobody moved. Naruto was either going to break something or have an orgasm because that was the face he made when one of the two things was going to happen. "What the fuck just happened." Hidan had just ruined everything but Itachi and Shikamaru, sitting under the window, were already watching each other and Ino could practically see the wheels in their brains working. In the end she sat on the couch next to her brothers without saying a word.

-

Jiraiya promised her a new tattoo if she behaved with the other patients after the transfer to the new institution. It wasn't difficult, it was enough just to understand what the others wanted and give it to them; she learned it when she was six years old and has never forgotten it since. The fact that it was all a fiction didn't seem to matter to anyone, not that anyone had ever really noticed it, and Jiraiya didn't seem to know what to do anymore, not that he knew exactly what was in her head, not that Hashirama even cared; Jiraiya wanted her to behave with the others and she would do it so she could have what he had promised her. She probably would have done it on her thigh again, it was a nice place for a tattoo and appearance is all that matters. Faking emotions, feelings and reactions to interactions with others was so obvious to Hashirama that sometimes she wondered if it wasn't really all true, but when she thought about her past or something happened and she had to induce the reaction that others expected then she understood that yes, it was all a fiction. Disappointing, perhaps, but she could live with that. The thing that struck her most that morning was Itachi's face to the nickname. Not that Hashirama couldn't remember people's names, but she just didn't care enough and thought that normal people would find it funny to watch other people's reactions when she gave random nicknames after the first meeting, so it was something she kept doing; Itachi looked like he had just eaten a lemon or been punched, Hashirama wasn't sure. But when she called the girl Sweetie, her eyes, which were already popping out of her skinny face, had widened disproportionately as if she had paid her the most beautiful compliment in the world; Hashirama would have laughed if she had cared enough. She went out into the garden and lay down in the grass by a tree, but in the sun; Madara sat in the shade before passing her a cigarette. Ah, the joys of not being obsessed with fire: being able to own a lighter. Smoking was all about appearance too, but Hashirama had to admit that it was relaxing to feel the smoke enter her lungs and then see it come out in a thin strip. She and Madara smoked three cigarettes a day each: one in the middle of the morning, one in the middle of the afternoon and one in the middle of the night; Jiraiya gave them a new pack every three days and once a month a new lighter even if they had to return the old one, not that it was a problem. Hashirama smoked while lying there with only Madara's breath in the background while a part of her brain was thinking about the drawing she would soon have on her skin; the rest of her mind was thinking and evaluating so many things at once that Hashirama had reduced it to a low buzz in the background. “'Ngot. Assetna vicèra.” Hashirama slowly opened her eyes and stared at Madara who, standing above her, was waiting; she got up slowly and before Madara helped her climb on his shoulders to carry her inside she replied “Emi.” Madara handed her the red earphones and she made them pass underneath her cardigan before putting them in her ears: they muffled the noises of the outside world and lowered the volume of her thoughts and above all they prevented people from disturbing her; they were not connected to any device but only she and Madara knew this and, as Hashirama knew all too well, it was only a matter of appearance.

-

Today's group therapy would be impossible to sustain because Naruto needed to fuck too much and couldn't concentrate on anything; sure sitting between Ino and Shikamaru maybe could be helpful and even have Itachi in front of him because _fucking Itachi is fucking creepy today_ but if he turned his head slightly to the right he could see the new girl sitting on the bottom window sill with a red earphone coming out of the neck of her pink sweater and the guy sitting cross-legged on the floor with his head resting on her thighs. _Those skinny, long thighs and God!_ Naruto breathed noisily through his nose to try to get those thoughts out of his head and focused on the feel of the carpet under the soles of his shoes; it was relaxing to swing his feet so that the soles only touched the fabric. Ino was paler than usual, Shikamaru and Itachi were engaged in a silent discussion that was probably only happening in their brains thanks to some supernatural power that Itachi _surely_ possessed, Deidara and Hidan were making the soles of their shoes collide as if they were children _obviously Deidara has to stick to Itachi, I'd like to fuck Itachi myself, or be fucked by Itachi but no!_ Iruka was swinging back and forth slightly and Kakashi was staring out the window with that depressed look he always had, one hand fisted around the hem of Iruka’s sweater. And then there were them, the newcomers, of whom Naruto knew nothing except that he wanted to fuck them both and that at the mere thought of her thighs he was getting hard again; he probably would have been content just to watch them fuck each other and he would have had the most powerful orgasm of his life anyway. _Maybe I could ask them_. Dr. Tsunade came in, holding the usual paper cup of tea, and sat down next to Kakashi to begin this torture. "As you have seen, there are two new guests; it would be a good idea to introduce ourselves so that we can get to know each other better before we start the session. Who would like to begin?" Naruto was still trying to get the image of Tsunade's boobs out of his head when Ino touched his arm to make him understand that it was his turn to speak; he hadn't listened to anything the others had said. "Naruto, 19 years old, I've been here for a year and a half. I have obsessive thoughts about sex and difficulty controlling my impulses, and I have fits of anger. Ino and Deidara are my siblings." Naruto had gone in autopilot, it was the presentation he did every time and honestly he didn't care because only now he realized _what the fuck_ the newcomers were looking at him and probably they had also looked at everyone else during their presentations because _fucking Tsunade just said that we have to introduce ourselves!_ Tsunade said to the two new guys "When you're ready you can tell us something about yourself." And at that point Naruto's attention returned to full strength because he would _finally fucking know_ something about that couple. Naruto didn't know what to expect, maybe that only the girl would talk because before with Ino’s shit it had happened like that and unfortunately he was screaming too loud to hear her and he wanted to hear her voice, or that they would say absolutely nothing and so he would have to die of desire not even knowing their names, but instead to his surprise and joy the boy spoke and _God I could cum even just listening to him_ because that low and masculine and hoarse voice was even better than Shikamaru's one. "Madara, 24 years old. We came here because our therapist was transferred to this institution." Naruto could die happy. "Hashirama, 22. We've been in treatment for ten years and I hope we all get along." Naruto wanted to cry because this was a miracle: Hashirama's lips were moving and her head tilted slightly towards Itachi and the light reflected on her hair; she was beautiful and Naruto stopped paying attention to the group session that day.

-

Hashirama had never slept much, even as a child she stayed up late still in her bed staring at the ceiling lost in her thoughts because the worlds in her head were less dangerous and frightening than the real world; as she got older and stayed in the various institutions she was lucky if she could sleep for more than an hour straight in the afternoon. Sometimes what was in her head was too noisy to allow her to rest, as at that moment, the second night in the new institution. Madara slept at her side with one arm around her shoulders, he had always had a light sleep, not because he wanted to, but because it was better to lose a night's sleep than to wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth and a broken arm, or so he said at least. The things in her head were screaming at that moment and the earphones were not enough so Hashirama stood up and shook Madara's shoulder. When he opened his eyes she said "'Ngot, vari gota maasu." "Lat." They reached the sofa in the library after stopping to make coffee and when Hashirama had grabbed the first available book they settled down for the night; she sat with one leg bent and the other lying along the back of the sofa and Madara lying with his head resting on her bent leg to use it as a cushion. Hashirama helped him to cover himself with a light blanket and began reading. She had read ten pages at most when Madara had finally gone back to sleep, his breath was low and regular, her coffee had cooled to the right temperature to be drunk and Hashirama realized that they were not alone in the library; she decided to pretend she didn’t know and tried to understand what she was reading until she reached page 36 and the figure was still there, in half-light, watching them. Hashirama looked up from the pages and directed her gaze towards the frame; the yellow light of the reading lamp mixed with the blue of the lenses of her glasses made the colors a little strange, especially at night, and part of her brain concentrated on processing that situation, giving her some relief from the terrible headache that had been bothering her since that afternoon. The figure exposed itself slightly to the light so that Hashirama could identify it. _Itachi. A first-rate manipulative sociopath with sleep disorders and the mind of a genius. Interesting._ Hashirama stretched out her lips until they created a sleepy smile and waited for him to sit in the chair in front of the sofa. "I thought I was the only visitor to the library at night." Hashirama drank a sip of coffee and felt Madara wake up but he remained motionless pretending to sleep; another part of her brain focused on Madara giving her further relief. "At today's group therapy, you didn't say why you're here or why they moved you along with the new therapist." Hashirama put down the cup of coffee and went back to the reading; Itachi wanted to know about them and wanted to know it in his own way and Hashirama only had to convince him that he was manipulating her and was inducing her to reveal what he wanted to know, without forgetting to give him some challenge because Itachi wanted to excel and could not have an easy victory; if she had cared about anything she would have felt sorry for him. "You look like a normal couple, this scene before my eyes could be the cover of a love film." Madara adjusted between her legs and Hashirama gave Itachi exactly what he wanted: she moved her eyes to Madara and ran her fingers through his long hair; now they were the portrait of the perfect couple in love. Continuing to stare at Madara's face, as her role required at the time, Hashirama asked quietly "What are you willing to do for love, Shooting-star?".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far we have few different point of view but I promise this story has so much more tellers!  
> I want to say one more time that this story is not an happy one and that the relationship described are not healty.  
> Please, while reading, keep in mind that characters have issues.   
> Please comment and let me know what do you think about it!
> 
> -Hh


	2. The bottom of the glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!  
> I changed the format a bit breacking up the paragraphs.  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> Please comment and let me know what do you think about it!
> 
> -Hh

Iruka knew how to listen because he had always done so; there were so many voices in his head, like thoughts that were not really his. Some were kind, others sad, others angry; once he heard a happy voice and Iruka smiled happily as he told his parents. He was 9 years old at that time and then the meetings with the doctors had begun.

And Iruka liked to listen but he also liked the silence, which he only heard when he was asleep, and he liked to talk even though sometimes it was difficult to do so. That afternoon with a deck of cards in his hand and Kakashi grasping the hem of his T-shirt Iruka appeared in Hashirama and Madara’s room; he was sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out and his back against the wall, in his left hand a book and his right hand running through her hair while she was sleeping with her head on his thigh. They seemed so peaceful, at ease, normal, but if they were at the institute maybe they weren’t so much so.

Madara looked up from the book and stared at them standing just outside the door and Iruka showed him the cards, they could play a game together maybe; Madara closed the book and Iruka entered with Kakashi in tow and sat down on the floor. Kakashi started shuffling and Madara bent down to whisper something in Hashirama’s ear, she got up and waited with her eyes closed until he handed her the glasses, she had scarily dark circles under her eyes, she had really bad sleep issue. Iruka was curious, he thought they were interesting to look at, they seemed to live in a world of their own.

Kakashi dealt the cards and started a game of Uno, a game that Kakashi won, because Iruka let him because he knew it was his favorite game. Halfway through the second game no one had said a word yet and even the voices in his head were quiet, like sighs, and Iruka was relaxed because there was a beautiful silence in that room.

He was focused on the cards when Hashirama spoke “Goti, assetna ru socèra. Sorji bà.” _What is it?! What’s she saying?!_ Madara stretched his legs and stood up. _Did she talk to him?! What does that mean?_ He reached the door before quietly answering “Lat. ‘Nsolana djina.” Hashirama nodded her head and returned to focus on the cards waiting her turn. Iruka started swinging slowly because he was scared and Hashirama scooted away slightly from him before speaking quietly “I’m sorry if I scared you, Apple-pie. Do you want me to leave?” Her voice was sweet, even in that strange language that made no sense but apparently Madara knew, and Iruka knew he didn’t have to worry but his heart was beating so fast and Kakashi was clutching the hem of his shirt again.

Hashirama got up and went out quietly after taking the book and Iruka only calmed down when Kakashi started to draw circles on his back slowly; Iruka thought his head was about to burst until he realized that finally all those voices were silent and only when he started crying in Kakashi’s arms the voices came back all at once like whispers that were easy enough to ignore.

-

Hashirama was lying on the floor of the common room with her legs resting on the low window sill, a book behind her head, just an earphone in her ear, and she seemed to be resting. Itachi had been watching her since she arrived, about twenty minutes before, while pretending to read.

The room was quiet because many of them had individual sessions: Ino and Deidara were putting on their nail polish sitting at the coffee table by the window, chatting not so quietly but without disturbing anyone. Itachi was waiting for Shikamaru because _he had to understand why the newcomers where there. He had to solve the mystery_.

As evoked Shikamaru entered with a chessboard in his hand and placed it in front of him to start a game; Itachi put the book aside and focused on the game, _he had to win_. He couldn’t let Shikamaru take the lead or he would have to take the last round in the showers, and Itachi hated to be the last.

“Has she done anything since she arrived?” “No, she just laid there motionless.” “Do you think she’s asleep?” “Would you sleep in this room?” Shikamaru nodded his head as if to indicate that actually Itachi was right: no one in their right mind would sleep in a room full of psychiatric patients; the fact that they were all there, however, implied that without a shadow of a doubt none of them were sane so perhaps the question was really superfluous. Itachi shrugged his shoulders.

Naruto walked in with heavy steps and greeted his siblings before sitting next to Shikamaru; he kissed him on the cheek and then asked “Who’s winning?” Neither he nor Shikamaru answered and Naruto puffed bored. Out of the corner of his eye, Itachi continued to observe Hashirama, who now had her head tilted slightly to the left, towards the door. _What’s she doing? Is she asleep or awake?_

The game against Shikamaru was approaching its end, and the girl hadn’t moved yet, when Madara entered the room and sat on the windowsill next to her calves; Itachi focused on them and Shikamaru also tilted his head slightly in their direction. “’Ngot. Solai somi ki ra ywall.” “Na’at?” Madara huffed through his nose at Hashirama’s response and replied “Somi ki ra ywall.” Hashirama stood up and said “Re’at ‘ngot?” Madara beckoned her to follow him before asking “’Nkoj na’at ‘nro?” She answered, closing the door behind her, “Eru berù.”

That was the strangest thing Ithaki had ever seen, _what just happened?_ Itachi stared at his opponent with a raised eyebrow, Shikamaru’s eyebrows were furrowed but he gave voice to his thoughts “Did they just have a conversation in a foreign language?” “What language is that?” Itachi was just grateful that Naruto was silent at the time. “Why do you care?” _I need to know_. Itachi moved one of his pieces and waited a little longer before answering “I’m curious and I want to know why they’re here.” “You should mind your own business, Itachi. Don’t stick your nose around causing trouble.” “You’re the one who stole from the forbidden zone of the library.” “I needed the second volume of that book.” Naruto got up giggling and joined his siblings. “Last shift in the showers, Itachi.” _What?!_ Naruto had stolen a piece from the chessboard and Shikamaru had won; Itachi was beyond furious in that moment.

-

In group therapy they hardly ever intervened and individual therapy was what it was; at least Jiraiya gave them everything they needed and they could be at peace. It was a slow day for Madara, little sleep but no anger shots to protect Hashirama who was quieter than usual _she’s too lost in her own head, it’s almost that time. I should give her a gift._ Sometimes life was hard but since they entered the first institution it had been infinitely better, infinitely better than the shit it was before, it was the perfect place for them, not that they knew many others. _Breathe, breathe._

Madara opened the door to Jiraiya’s office without knocking and found the doctor standing looking out the window, so he sat quietly in his armchair and waited; he would ask for a new pair of glasses for Hashirama. _It's a great gift._

“How are you feeling today, Madara?” Jiraiya hadn’t turned around; their sessions always started with that question even though Madara really didn’t understand why, two hours a week, he had to try to talk to the therapist _he is the one who lasted longest, almost six years_ to solve his problems, all by himself. Madara had no problems, as long as he had Hashirama in his field of vision at least; he breathed deeply and clenched his fists, thinking about her made him feel better but not having her near him was unbearable. “I want to give her a new pair of glasses.” Jiraiya turned with a confused and curious expression. “How come? Is there a special occasion?” Madara clenched his fists tighter. _Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._ “She deserves everything.” _Just breathe._

Madara closed his eyes to concentrate; Hashirama lying on the floor with her eyes closed breathing slowly, he focused on her breathing in this picture inside his head. _Breathe!_ “I want a new pair of glasses, the ones she has now she has had that for over ten years now.” _Just breathe._ The image of Hashirama the first time he gave her the glasses filled his head and Madara relaxed slightly; it was one of the times he had done something right and Hashirama had taken him by the hand at that time, then they hid under the window of her bedroom outside the house because it was safer than staying inside. It was December and it was freezing cold and Madara thought Hashirama would die that night. He shook his head. _Breathe._ He clenched his fists. _Breathe._

“Like the ones she has now?” Jiraiya’s voice was distant and Madara could only hear his heartbeat and the breaths he was taking. _Keep breathing._ “With pink lenses. Same as those she has but with pink lenses.” Madara snapped open his eyes and Jiraiya nodded before answering. “All right. You’ll have them next week, hopefully.” Madara breathed deeply and relaxed his fists slightly; his arms trembled because of how hard he had been clenching his fists. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk about, Madara?”

His mind was fixed on the memory of the two of them under that window and the fear that Hashirama would die; he had to see her. He had to see her now. He shook his head and got up, walked away without saying a word and headed to their room. _Breathe, she's fine. She's fine. Breathe._ He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. _Keep breathing._

The door of their room was open and Hashirama was lying on the floor with her legs up against the wall, her eyes closed and both earphones in her ears; Madara was able to breathe again. He closed the door behind him and knelt near Hashirama’s head. _She's beautiful, you're beautiful._ He placed his forehead against hers and let his hair hide them like a curtain than he breathed deeply in her scent. _She's all right._ “So panji ‘nkaalli garì.” Her voice was low, _she had a headache_ , as if there was the possibility of throwing up adding even a breath to her overly noisy thoughts. _It had happened. More than once._ “Ne’at lu moti korji?” He answered in the same whispered tone. “Knot sa growaa.” Madara did not need to be told twince.

-

Jiraiya drank yet another glass of whiskey and then laid his head on the bar counter, _how disgusting_. He had lost count of the glasses he had drown about an hour before but his options were only two: destroy his liver that night and tomorrow roll up his sleeves and try again or jump off a bridge. For now he was trying to hold on; liver and wallet weren’t thankful.

If he had thought another minute about his patients he would have thrown up on the bar counter but his mind turned to them independently and uncontrollably and all the alcohol in the world wasn’t enough to stop it; he was probably going crazy. Just like his patients. They weren’t exactly crazy anyway, but they certainly weren’t fine, to put it delicately. Jiraiya emitted a verse halfway between a grunt and a sigh before gently banging his head against the wooden piano a couple of times; there was no solution. He couldn’t help them, he didn’t know what else he could do.

“Bad day?” A not-so-unknown voice asked from his right. “Bad period.” Wow, despite all the alcohol in his system, he wasn’t slurring his words, _good Jiraiya_. “Come on. Tell me about it while I walk you home.”

The air outside the bar was fresh, luckily, and Jiraiya leaned against a wall to stop a powerful dizziness and a slight nausea; they started walking again and after a few steps he stopped to throw up in an alley. “You have to stop doing this to yourself.” Jiraiya grunted in response. They arrived at his apartment in silence and Jiraiya throw up only once more along the street; he collapsed on the couch with a painful verse and covered his eyes with his arm.

“I’m their fourth therapist.” He murmured and added a tired sigh before continuing “I’m the one who lasted the longest. The first after a year and a half retired early, the second lasted six months and then changed job.” “The third?” Jiraiya didn't want to think about her; on the one hand he was scared and on the other he felt useless. When he met them he thought it could make a difference, he wanted to help them and he really believed it. “She committed suicide about a year after the first session. She left a note. It said ‘Her emptiness is eating me alive and I'm scared.’” Jiraiya started crying. “I’ll never get them out of there, Tsuna. God, Hashirama had already spent half of her life locked up in a mental hospital. I can’t help them.”

His monologue was interrupted by his own sobs; Jiraiya cried and sobbed all the tears he had while Tsunade stroked his hair. When he calmed down, he said “I can’t get in. I’ve been working with them for six years and I still can’t get in, Tsuna. I just want to help them.” “Not everyone can be helped, ‘Raiya.” She answered softly. Jiraiya fell asleep with his head sunk into Tsunade’s belly as it was during their college’s years and with her hands in his hair still feeling useless but lighter; he would continue to try to help them, he would not give up.

-

Shikamaru did not know exactly how much time had passed since they had arrived, in fact he did not know how much time had passed in general _the days are all the same_ , but every time he saw them, practically always together, he became more and more convinced that those two were an ecosystem apart, _a different solar system, another galaxy_. It wasn’t exactly the best image, but at the moment he couldn’t express his feelings differently: they didn’t gravitate around each other, not in the real sense of the word, but... They were literally a separate thing, a kind of symbiosis with its own rules that nobody could enter; they weren’t closed because they communicated with the outside world and interacted with others, but they were still detached, as if on a different plane of existence. Probably if he had believed in the supernatural he would have inserted them into some category of beings who lived in the real world but were not really part of it. His thoughts on this point were confused, but a point in favor of his thesis was the strange language they spoke; he hadn’t tried to understand it because they never spoke too much and never out loud, and he often couldn’t understand half of the letters they spoke, and above all they didn’t spoke much, and _if I start to fixate on that, it's the end._

Shikamaru sighed and scratched his neck stopping in the middle of the corridor; he was almost in front of their door and he didn’t even know why. Oh no, actually he knew why. Because he was curious, because they were interesting to look at, because they were complicated, like a difficult puzzle, the most complex he had ever seen. But he didn’t know why at that very moment he was almost at their door. With a further sigh he knocked a couple of times and then opened it; the room was silent and only Hashirama was inside, sitting on the bed with her back against the wall and her legs crossed intent on reading a book. She looked up briefly and after recognizing his presence, she returned to concentrate on the text; Shikamaru took it as a good clue and sat down on the floor exactly in front of her opening the mechanics text he had chosen that morning.

They remained silent reading their books for some time, every now and then Shikamaru studied her for a few minutes but then returned to concentrate on the yellowed pages of his volume, until Naruto entered noisily and lay down at his side resting his head on his thighs. _The break is over._ The small smile on his face contradicted the exasperation of his thoughts. “What are you reading?” Naruto’s voice was cheerful _they must have given him the pills or his session went well_ and Shikamaru increased his smile before answering “Mechanics.” “No, not you! You! Hashirama, what are you reading?” She lifted her eyes from the book and looked at them with a kind of condescending smile, as if Naruto were a child _which he is_ , and then turned the book over to read the title. _She doesn't know what she's reading?_ “Compendium musicae.” _In the original language?_ Shikamaru would have wanted to ask but Naruto's question nipped in the bud. “Do you like music? You always wear earphones, what do you listen to?” She shook her head and returned to concentrate on the book while Naruto was practically freewheeling.

Shikamaru returned to his reading and noticed that Naruto had shut up a few seconds late. Madara had come in and sat next to Hashirama on the bed putting his arm around her shoulders. Naruto, in a louder voice than before, blurted “You guys have sex, don't you?” before lifting up and sitting with his back straight; Shikamaru shook his head but observed the reaction of the two. Hashirama tilted her head in a gesture that expressed curiosity and Madara raised an eyebrow before answering “Since she was sixteen.” Naruto then got up and ran out with a scream of joy and Shikamaru followed him with his eyes.

When he returned to stare at the couple on the bed Shikamaru was not expecting the words that were addressed to him. “Go retrieve your Sunshine, Shadow. Don’t let him go.” Hashirama was staring at the book as she spoke to him but Shikamaru could see the shadow of a smile on her lips; he got up and went out into the hallway, following the advice of that strange girl and letting his thoughts about that couple overlap and collide. Now he was even more curious than before.


	3. Polar night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohayo minna-san!  
> Here it is the third chapter.  
> I apologize for the dalay but my work schedule has been hectic for the past two weeks due to some changes related to the spread of Covid.  
> Anyways here we are!  
> I hope you enjoy and please comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> -Hh

Madara was six _and a half_ years old, he had a split lip and blood on his shirt and he thought he had to run faster and hide because otherwise the split lip would be the least of his problems. His side was hurting and he didn’t know if it was because of the kick he had received or the fall down the stairs but in the end it didn’t matter because _his side was hurting_. At least no one could see the bruise under his shirt, the bruises were not good. He missed his mom.

He reached the park and sat down on the ground behind a bench, with his back resting on the trunk of a tree, one hand on his side that hurt and the other on his lips to remove the blood that kept dripping on his shirt, his eyes wide open and attentive to every movement around him. There weren’t many people, some adults, a couple of dogs and then some mothers who were watching children around his age playing in the playground. Madara relaxed slightly. The moms were fine, he liked the moms, _he missed his mom_.

There was a child lying in the middle of the lawn a few meters away from him and Madara got scared because he hadn’t seen him when he had looked around but the child was still and staring at the sky and for a moment Madara wondered if he was dead because he didn’t seem to be breathing. _Dead people don't breathe. Like his mom._

And then the boy’s hand spasmed and Madara watched his chest rise and fall slightly. He was the thinnest little boy Madara had ever seen. He was wearing cotton shorts and a shirt that looked huge and his arms and legs were full of bruises and some scratches. Madara clenched his fist. The bruises were no good, neither his nor that boy’s.

Someone was yelling in the distance and Madara looked around in fear until he saw a boy about ten years old running towards him and then he pulled back even more against the tree’s trunk. But that guy was not looking for him but for the little boy lying in the middle of the lawn, who hadn’t moved at all, and maybe he really was dead. The guy knelt down beside the boy and took him in his arms and hugged him to his chest, _like a mother_.

And now Madara could see that the thinnest child he had ever seen was not really a boy but a girl. The thinnest little girl Madara had ever seen, with cotton shorts and a T-shirt that was huge and arms and legs full of bruises and scratches and long, chocolate-colored straight hair. _Hair longer than his mother's_.

The guy took her in his arms and walked away and Madara looked into the eyes of that little girl whose head popped out over that guy’s shoulder and time stopped.

Madara was no longer six _and a half_ years old, his lip no longer split and blood no longer on his shirt, his side was no longer hurting and he no longer missed his mom because Madara was only six _and a half_ years old and in that moment he had seen the Sun for the first time.

Madara opened his eyes wide, turned on his right side and threw up over the edge of the bed on the carpet in their room at the institute.

-

Hashirama knew that if Madara had died before her eyes, at her feet, she probably wouldn’t have felt anything; she wouldn’t even be bothered by the corpse, and she would have gone on with her life.

Hashirama knew, however, that she didn’t want to know what she would have felt if Madara had died and she didn’t want to go on with her life without Madara because with Madara by her side her life had always been easier.

That’s why when she went back to their room at the institute and absorbed the scene before her eyes for the first time in eleven years, _for the first time after that night_ , all the worlds in her head froze as if she had pressed the pause button.

The situation was not strange or unusual and Hashirama, really, couldn’t care less but this, _this_ , should never have happened, _should never have happened inside the institute_.

The fact was that it was that week of the year and her body wasn’t handling it very well so Hashirama was awake and on her feet out of sheer willpower and about an hour’s sleep over the last 86 hours; Madara had stopped sleeping at night and they could both be thankful to the gods if he could sleep a couple of hours when the sun was shining right through the window of their room. That that couple of hours of sleep were filled with nightmares was another matter, and perhaps Hashirama would have felt sorry for him if she had known what it was like to sleep without nightmares or to sleep, period.

Anyway, the fact was that it was that week of the year and two days before that Madara had woken up at 3:24 p.m. and retched bile on the carpet for almost a quarter of an hour and their room now smelled of disinfectant and Hashirama was awake and standing by pure willpower, about an hour of sleep during the last 86 hours and very little patience.

That week of the year basically meant that Madara had to have her by his side constantly. And this had never been a problem in the last fifteen years, or something like that, Hashirama didn’t keep tabs, she didn’t care how long it had been. But on that particular day Hashirama had to go to the bathroom and finally Madara seemed to sleep a slightly calmer sleep so Hashirama had left the room and now, after 221 seconds that she had counted in a part of her head from the moment she stepped outside the door, when she came back into the room the scene in front of her was that.

Her brain was still on pause and the only thing Hashirama was really seeing was the gleam of the syringe needle in Madara’s shoulder, his dark eyes that were only pupil and the hands of the dogs trying to hold him still. _This should never have happened inside the institute._

“Remè.” Madara’s voice was a mixture of relief, anger, fear, love, comfort, sleep, terror and a thousand other different things and Hashirama approached him silently, knelt by his side, stroked his hair gently and said in a whisper “Ass bà, Tòri, ass bà.”

The nurses had moved away and were standing by the door now, the syringe still in Madara’s shoulder who was lying on his stomach on the carpet reeking of disinfectant; Hashirama kept stroking his hair until the sedative the nurses had given him was effective and only when Madara closed his eyes did Hashirama stop stroking his hair. When she was sure that Madara was really out cold Hashirama pulled the syringe out of his shoulder, stood up slowly and turned mechanically to face the nurses.

Hashirama was good at reading people and what she read while watching the guards would have opened a sick smile on a psychopath’s face: the dogs were terrified. And Hashirama could have enjoyed the moment if she had had any emotion or if she had cared about anything. Hashirama knew that there was absolutely nothing on her face, that she was like a wax doll, the perfect portrait of the psychopath the dogs believe she was, and she also knew that in the new institute the nurses had received specific instructions not to approach them, so the reason for these two particular dogs in _their room_ was that Madara had woken up during those 221 seconds, had not found her by his side and had reacted accordingly, forcing the guards to step up.

Hashirama tilted her head sideways like a puppet and then emptied the syringe onto the carpet, staring at the woman dead in the eyes; the man at her side had his hands shaking. “You know.” Her voice was so cold and empty and terrifying and it was the only sound in the room that Hashirama could almost hear the guards’ hearts increase their rhythm. “I think when we arrived Jiraiya explained to everyone that there is only one rule as far as we are concerned.” Hashirama turned her head slightly and stared at the man. “No. Syringes.”

She sucked the air with the plunger and then straightened her head to stare at the woman again. “Tell me, Doctor.” Hashirama smiled and could see the chills running down their backs and the terror spreading in their eyes. “What happens when you put air into the circulatory system.” Her face had become expressionless again and the worlds in her head were still paused and for once Hashirama could concentrate all her brain on the situation that was unfolding before her eyes; she looked at the man and concluded “You die.”

She threw the syringe into the wall two inches above the man’s shoulder, stepped forward, a step away from Madara, pointed to the door and said “Get out.” The only movement was the swinging of the syringe stuck in the wall and then Hashirama hissed threateningly, the first emotion she showed since she had entered _their room_ , the emotion the guards expected to see, because she was crazy and that was what was expected of her, “Now.”

The dogs rushed out and Hashirama locked the door behind them before reaching Madara again, turning him sideways and snuggling against his chest. In that moment, with Madara’s steady heartbeat in her ear and his breaths in her hair, her head started up again at full speed, as if trying to make up for lost time, and Hashirama was just able to turn the other way before retching on the carpet.

-

Jiraiya stared at Hashirama and Madara’s room door and waited. He couldn’t do anything else. When the two nurses had entered his office, he had first heard their story, seen their tears, listened to their sobs and then waited. Then he had yelled, drank some water and yelled again while the woman cried. And now he stared at the door of Hashirama and Madara’s room and waited.

A little over an hour had passed and Jiraiya had been waiting for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes during which he had heard Hashirama and Madara having sex twice. That closed door and his waiting in the hallway were further evidence that he could not get in, either metaphorically or literally. After another fifteen minutes he heard the sound of the lock being opened and looked up in time to see Madara with only his boxer brief on sign of entering. Hashirama was lying on the bed with her eyes closed and Madara reached her sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jiraiya stared at the syringe stuck in the wall, pulled it out and turned towards the door. “This shouldn’t have happened, Jiraiya.” Jiraiya was this close to cry; Hashirama’s voice was slightly hoarse and the room smelled of vomit, smoke and sex. Before closing the door behind him, Jiraiya only said “Tomorrow morning I’ll have you moved to the isolation zone so you can be fine for this week.” Before he could leave Madara replied “That won’t be necessary.” Jiraiya only nodded once and walked towards his office.

He closed the door behind him, opened the window and breathed deeply from his mouth, took a sip of water and lit a cigarette. His head was completely empty, he heard only white noise in the background. He stared out the window for the rest of the afternoon and continued to wait.

-

Something had happened. What he didn’t know but he knew something had happened. Hashirama had a new pair of glasses now, with pink lenses, and Madara was paler than usual and had darker and more pronounced bags under his eyes; Hashirama looked sick but it could also have been the neon lamps.

Shikamaru watched them take their dinner trays and sit down near the window sill. Madara’s tray was quite normal, except that there were no pill glasses on his tray: he was the only one not taking any medication; Hashirama’s tray was worse than Ino’s, Shikamaru could only stare at it upset: a small bowl of white rice, a glass of juice and the little white pill in the glass. The only thing he had in common with Hashirama’s tray _before_ anything happened was that pill and the rice bowl; all the other food had disappeared replaced by that glass of juice.

Two dinners. Shikamaru knew that whatever had happened had happened three days ago because one night the two of them were not at dinner and this was the second dinner and for the second time Hashirama’s tray was worse than Ino’s tray. Shikamaru swallowed his three pills with a generous sip of water and continued to watch them while he ate. He didn’t hear any noise around him, it was as if he had pushed ‘mute’ somewhere.

Hashirama and Madara ate quietly sitting on the floor next to each other with their legs intertwined and elbows touching; Hashirama took the pill with a sip of juice and ate half of the rice slowly before passing the rest to Madara. Out of the corner of his eye Shikamaru saw a couple of nurses exchange a few glances and one directed the other towards the couple; Shikamaru saw Hashirama and Madara lift their gaze at the same time and stare at the guards and could almost feel the chills of the guards at that contact, he could almost feel his own chills even though that gaze was not directed to him. No one approached the couple and when Madara returned the trays Shikamaru distinctly saw the step back that one of the nurses took.

Shikamaru watched them go out in the direction of the garden, waited two minutes, the time to drink a glass of milk and then followed them outside. He found them lying in the middle of the lawn staring at the sky and smoking a cigarette, and he stood leaning against the wall of the institute watching them until he felt the relaxing effect of the medication and then let himself slide on the ground and from that position he also watched the sky in a state of increasing relaxation and numbness.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, the pills made it a little difficult to think, but at a certain point he realized that Hashirama and Madara were in front of him and Madara was holding out his hand; he took it and found himself standing, dragged towards the room he shared with Itachi. When he curled up in bed Shikamaru said “The sky is the same everywhere.” He didn’t even know if he had thought it only in his head or if he had really said it out loud but just before he fell asleep he heard Hashirama whispering “The night is the same everywhere, Shadow, not the sky.”

-

When Madara was five he cried all night, when he was six he was afraid, when he was seven he almost always managed to get away before he was hurt too much, when he was eight he threw his first punch, when he was nine he realized he wasn’t really nine and when he was ten he was angry.

Not with one person in particular, but with everyone because he didn’t understand how such a thing was possible. He didn’t understand why Hashirama had to pay for what everyone else was doing. He didn’t understand why it had to be Hashirama who was always bowing her head, literally.

When Madara was eleven years old, he actually understood that Hashirama was offering people what they wanted: people were afraid to look her in the eye so she lowered her head so that they didn’t have to.

So when Madara was eleven, he wasn’t just angry anymore, he was literally furious. Because people had forced Hashirama to bow her head and hide because they were fucking afraid. And maybe Madara was only eleven years old, but he wasn’t really eleven, and he still didn’t really understand much about the world, but he understood enough, and he was furious with everyone because Hashirama should never have had to bow her head for anyone and she should never have had to hide because Hashirama _deserved everything_ and Madara was absolutely certain of that.

But there was one thing Madara still didn’t understand, even though he was eleven years old but not really eleven, and that was why people, everyone, were afraid to look Hashirama in the eye. Hashirama’s eyes contained the universe, those hazel eyes had shown him the Sun the first time when he was six _and a half_ years old, and Madara when he was ten years old, besides being angry, realized that those eyes were what had kept him alive for the last four years.

If he could Madara would have spent his whole life looking Hashirama in the eyes but he couldn’t because people _had forced Hashirama to lower her head_ and Madara was furious.

When Madara was twelve years old he had stolen money from his father’s wallet and then went to buy glasses. They were big, too big for a ten-year-old girl, who was still _the thinnest little girl Madara had ever seen_ , but they were round and hid Hashirama’s split eyebrow pretty well and had light blue lenses and Madara liked that color.

He had knocked quietly on Hashirama’s window and waited outside for 8 minutes, counted them in his head, clenched his fists tightly and tried to contain his fear and anger evening his breaths and trembling in the freezing afternoon. Then Hashirama had opened the window and he had slipped inside and Hashirama _had lowered her head_ and Madara had seen red again; he had clenched his fists and whispered “Remè, vari sola ‘nru ay.”

Hashirama had raised her head slowly and with her eyes half closed she had waited so Madara had touched Hashirama’s split eyebrow with his icy fingers and then put the glasses on her, stepped back and waited to see those eyes open, _those eyes that contained the universe, that had shown him the Sun the first time and that had kept him alive_.

And then Hashirama had opened her eyes and _they still contained the universe_ and now they were showing him not only the Sun but _all the galaxies they contained_ and Madara wanted to spend his whole life looking at those eyes even though now that hazelnut was protected by the blue of the lenses or maybe the world was protected by those eyes thanks to the glasses.

Hashirama had given him a little smile and then she had squeezed his icy hand between her skinny, lukewarm ones and for Madara _everything_ was in that room.

They had stayed in that position for endless minutes, simply staring at each other, and Madara for the first time in years was not aware of what was around him until the screaming began. Then they had moved towards the window, Madara had helped Hashirama out, got a blanket and then they had hid outside and waited hugging each other tightly.

Madara had counted Hashirama’s breaths thanks to the small puffs of breath that condensed in the freezing air and had observed the sky turning first a dark shade of purple, like their bruises, then black and then slightly less black, then purple again and then finally gray and then the street lamps had gone out because another day was starting; they hadn’t slept and Hashirama had blue lips, darker than the lenses of her new glasses, as blue as the bruise on his shoulder, and Madara was terrified because he thought Hashirama might freeze to death and he would never see _the galaxies in her eyes_ again. So he had taken her in his arms, _and she was still the thinnest little girl he had ever seen_ , and walked to the first open bar where that ancient lady would keep them warm and sometimes give them cookies.

But that time Madara had stolen the money from his father’s wallet and so he bought two hot chocolates and a raspberry muffin and then they both remained wrapped in the blanket sitting in the armchair next to the heater until his fingers were working again and Hashirama’s lips were no longer blue.

And when that ancient grandmother brought them another hot chocolate Hashirama did not lower her head but looked at that her through the blue lenses of her new glasses and Madara tightened the grip he had around Hashirama because _Hashirama was everything_.

Madara snapped open his eyes and gasped for air. “Bratji, Tòri. Bratji.” _Her voice_. He squeezed his arms around Hashirama and sunk his nose into her neck. _Breathe, she’s fine_. “’Ngot.” Madara got up and followed her into the garden, sat on the ground against the trunk of a tree with Hashirama between his legs pressed against his chest and breathed deeply.

It was hot and sunny and Hashirama was there and Madara closed his eyes, tightened his grip on Hashirama and breathed again.


	4. How the ball rolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like I'm back in track, minna-san!  
> I apologize for the delay but, as I already explained posting the last chapter of my other fic, these past weeks had been hectic.  
> But, finally some good news!  
> So, here is the chapter!
> 
> I hope you enjoy and please comment because your feedback is very much appreciated!  
> -Hh

Itachi always knew what was going on in the institute because Naruto couldn’t shut up for a minute; the thing that bothered him was that Shikamaru didn’t know anything yet but then Naruto told him that they had increased the dosage of his pills and that was a sufficient explanation. Itachi needed Shikamaru to know what had happened so they could compare their theories.

Itachi had not missed the display during dinner a few nights before or the fact that Madara and Hashirama had taken Shikamaru back to their room. He had been watching them the whole time from a certain distance, _unseen_ , even if for a moment he had had the feeling that Madara had turned his head in his direction, _but it was not possible_.

Itachi needed Shikamaru to know what had happened so he made sure Naruto told him. Unfortunately the story was second-handed _maybe even worse_ but no one, _except those two nurses_ , had seen what had happened and _those two dogs were no longer seen around_ so Itachi had to make do with it.

_What are those two?_

Itachi had found Shikamaru sitting in the hallway in front of Naruto’s room and had stood by his side waiting for the other one to start talking; he wanted to know what he had found out about those two as he kept watching them. Shikamaru stood and walked away without saying a word, without even glancing at him, and Itachi glared and squeezed his fist slightly frustrated before turning around and going back to the library.

_If Shikamaru didn't want to help him that day, he would have to work alone._

-

Ino was not good with other people but she had become very fond of the boys living in the institute; the institute had been her home for over a year and fortunately her brothers were there as well. And then there was Hidan who made her laugh, Shikamaru who always smelled of coffee, Itachi with that look of his, always tired but attentive to everything, Iruka and Kakashi who gave the best hugs in the world, Hashirama who made you feel so special when she looked at you through those lenses that were blue before but pink now and Madara beautiful as a prince.

She hadn’t interacted much with the new couple _who was no longer so new, who didn’t interact much with anyone_ because she still felt very much in awe when they were in the same room but she had seen them interact a little bit with the others or stay in the common room all together even if they were silent and she had seen them both reading a lot of books; and she was curious and once she discovered the title of a book Hashirama was reading and she thought that if she read it too maybe she would be more like the other girl.

So Ino had got into the habit of reading books as soon as Hashirama brought them back to the library and she realized that reading all those books made her thoughts not so sad and grey anymore but sometimes she could almost see colors.

So Ino wanted to go and thank Hashirama even though maybe Hashirama didn’t even know what she had done for her but on the first day she had called her Sweetie and sometimes they crossed their eyes and so Ino squeezed the book tighter against her chest and went out into the garden.

Now that she saw them lying in the middle of the lawn she began to be afraid to come closer because what would they think of her? That she was strange and Ino wasn’t strange but she wanted to thank Hashirama because her thoughts were colorful sometimes and Ino couldn’t breathe.

She closed her eyes and squeezed them tight until she felt a slight pressure on her elbow and her first reaction was to run away but the grip on her was sure but gentle and there was Iruka by her side smiling at her in that sleepy and distant way of his as if he wasn’t really there, but he was actually there, and then Ino started taking deep breaths until her shoulders stopped shaking.

When she had calmed down enough Iruka took her by the hand and together they approached the couple and stopped a couple of meters away from them and Hashirama had her red earphones in her ears and her eyes closed but Madara had his eyes open and was turned to the side looking at her and then Ino handed him the book.

When he took it Ino said quietly “I really liked it. I wanted to thank Hashirama because she read it first and I got curious.” Ino held Iruka’s hand tightly and Madara had wrapped his arm around Hashirama’s shoulders and she was probably sleeping because she hadn’t moved, so Ino stepped back and when she turned to go back to the common room she heard Madara say “I’ll let her know.”

Ino turned around, tried to smile because Madara’s voice really was beautiful and only said “Thank you.” Then she turned around again and went back inside with Iruka, feeling her stomach all tangled up and gripping the hand that had not yet left hers.

-

Deidara liked some things and was obsessed with others. For example he liked that Ino put nail polish on their nails once a week, he liked to take care of his hair _even if the dogs had cut it off and now it only came to his shoulders and he hated it and had smashed a mirror with a brush for that reason_ and Ino’s hair, too, which was very thin compared to his but definitely longer, he liked the color red and Naruto had managed to get him the red nail polish of a famous brand that Ino had told him about by sucking off the guy in charge of the cameras every night for three days in a row.

He was obsessed with fire instead, not so much the heat or the color of the fire but the sound of fires, that perfect roar was an heavenly symphony in his ears; he was obsessed with the way Itachi’s hair shone but at the same time seemed to absorb all the light, it was a fascinating thing to watch.

Here, the hair was something that stimulated Deidara in many different ways: for example, Hidan’s and Kakashi’s hair was similar in color but completely different in reality because Hidan’s was thick and strong while Kakashi’s was thin and fluffy and soft; his, Ino’s and Naruto’s hair even though all three were blond were all different because Naruto’s was short and spiky and sometimes electric, Ino’s very thin and fragile and his hair was soft and he had managed to tame it almost completely. Those of Shikamaru and Iruka were similar in hairstyle but completely different in structure and color because Shika’s hair was dark as coffee beans while Iruka’s was chocolate colored and gave Deidara a feeling of warmth and reminded him of Hashirama’s, which was similar in color but was so _so_ very long, more than his sister’s hair, and Deidara would have wanted to brush it; then there was the black hair of Itachi that absorbed the light but seemed to glitter and that Deidara was obsessed with and that resembled Madara’s hair, which was almost as long as Hashirama’s, but more rebellious and dangerous in a way and even though it was black like Itachi’s it didn’t absorb the light but reflected it and there were absurd blue and purple strands in that wild hair that Deidara was attracted to.

And Deidara liked to talk and he could talk for hours without pausing and he could talk about anything and his therapist said it was fine and Deidara had just spent an hour of therapy talking only about hair and now was going back to the common room and there, sitting on the floor near the window, were Madara and Hashirama.

Hashirama, lying on the floor with her legs on the sill and a book on her belly and Madara sitting cross-legged with his back to the window holding a book in one hand and in the other a lock of that so very long chocolate colored hair.

And in that moment, if not for Ino waving a bottle of green nail polish at him, Deidara would have rushed to them and would have petted Hashirama’s hair and then he would have been beaten to a pulp, because if there was one thing that he had understood by looking at Madara and at the way he looked at Hashirama, and really Deidara wondered how Itachi still hadn’t understood it because it didn’t really take a genius and just looking at them for seven seconds _and sometimes Itachi was really stupid_ was enough to understand it, it was that no one, no one could get close to her, touch her and survive to tell it.

-

Hashirama knew that Hidan would come to them for cigarettes; she had understood this on their third day in the institute and she has been waiting for him to come ever since. Hidan had been sent to solitary confinement for four days after he smashed the board game cabinet in one of his tantrums and Hashirama knew that as soon as he came out of there he would look for them to ask for a smoke; Hashirama didn’t care about the cigarettes as much as anything else, but she knew that because of Hidan’s unpredictability Madara was more on edge and more ready to react, and if she wanted to keep them from going into solitary for Madara beating him to death, she had to keep Madara calm the whole time.

Another thing Hashirama was aware of was that Itachi was studying them because _he still didn't understand_ but he remained on the sidelines and never approached and she knew that there had been a change in Shikamaru because he too was studying them but in an open way, like they were wild animals, always remaining in their field of vision without ever approaching more than necessary and always in silence.

Hashirama thought that Shikamaru really wanted to make friends and she really wanted to laugh at the absurdity of that desire, which was almost endearing if it wasn’t that she really didn't care, at all.

Another thing to consider was the fact that that week of the year had just ended so Madara wasn’t really the most balanced person in the world, not that he was in general, but still.

So while she was brushing his hair, sitting on the carpet in their room cross-legged behind Madara, and part of her brain was rereading the last chapter of the book she had read the night before, Hashirama reflected on how to deal with the situation with Madara. She placed her hand on his shoulder and he tilted his head backwards so that she could tie his hair in a high ponytail.

Hashirama did not move because the chapter in her head had ended and there was a rapid breath and hurried steps outside their door and something in her head was moving too fast.

Madara rested his head on her shoulder and sunk his nose into her neck, he breathed slowly for some time before whispering relaxed “Remè, bratji. Eru assetna nawy.”

The chapter had finally started again and Madara had put an earphone in her ear and pushed the glasses on her forehead so, with her eyes closed, Hashirama started breathing slowly matching her breaths to Madara’s and Madara’s cold fingers were running delicately over her eyebrows, the line of her nose and then over her dark circles under her eyes and her head was finally slowing down; Hashirama breathed deeply a couple of times then made a small movement of her head and Madara put the glasses back on and before opening her eyes Hashirama whispered simply “Asset bà.”

She picked up the brush and started brushing his hair again and after 32 steps on the other side of the door she heard a rather loud knock; she squeezed her legs around Madara’s waist and slipped closer to him before answering.

And when Hidan opened the door and Madara stiffened slightly Hashirama simply started to style Madara’s hair in a braid waiting for Hidan to ask her for a smoke.

-

With the end of that week of the year came the worst time for Madara: the following days. That week of the year was mainly made up of nightmares that Madara could not handle simply because his sleep was usually so light that he never dreamed. _Breath_. So the following days were filled with memories that Madara really didn’t want to relive. _Breathe. Breathe_.

Madara remembered the blood, or rather the lack of blood in the form of two circles around the hazelnut. _Breathe. Squeeze your fists. Breathe. Relax your fists_. He remembered the cold of the tiles against his small bare feet and the sound of a door opening in the corridor. _Again. In. Squeeze. Out._ _Relax_.

But this was a special year because Hashirama had been in his life for eighteen _eighteen years_ and he wanted to celebrate. If they were a normal couple Madara would take her out to dinner, like they had seen in the movies, buy her a bouquet of flowers, like they did in the movies, and then ask her to move in together, like the couples did in the movies.

But they were not a normal couple and had been living together for eleven years in various institutions and it was almost fifteen years since they spent a day apart.

But there was one thing Madara regretted. _Breathe_. He had never planned a romantic date for Hashirama. The fact was that even though they had been together for eighteen years, eleven had been spent in institutions, so Madara had never really had the chance to arrange a romantic date for Hashirama, like normal couples did in the movies.

And that was his regret.

_Breathe_. Because Hashirama deserved everything and he couldn’t give it to her. _Breathe. Breathe_.

He squeezed Hashirama’s hand tighter when they reached the door of Jiraiya’s office and he watched intently her sit with her back against the wall right there in front of the door and then he entered the study without knocking, his eyes never leaving her. The last thing he saw before closing the door was Hashirama looking at him from behind the pink lenses _pink lenses_ of the new glasses he had given her.

Perhaps he could give her everything she deserved.

He took a deep breath and before Jiraiya could ask him “How are you feeling today, Madara?” he said quietly so that she wouldn’t hear him from the other side of the door “I want to arrange a romantic date for Hashirama.”

_Breathe. He could give her everything she deserved. Just breathe._

-

Shikamaru had noticed that at one point Iruka, Kakashi, Madara and Hashirama had made an habit of playing Uno two afternoons a week. Sometimes they would sit on the floor near the windows, sometimes they would use one of the tables near the sofas _like now_ sometimes they would play in one of their rooms. He didn’t even know when it started, but it had become a kind of routine. The most absurd thing was that nobody spoke, even when one was holding a single card.

They played in complete silence and the only noise coming from the group was the rustling of the cards. They played in four until Madara got up and then left the room after seeing the small movement of Hashirama’s head and then they continued to play in three. Even more absurd was Iruka’s relaxed posture and his knee always touching a part of Kakashi.

Shikamaru didn't know why he was so fixed on Iruka’s knee, which was _always_ the point of contact with Kakashi, but he found it fascinating, as if that contact was enough to explain all the things in the universe.

Deidara was brushing his hair with slow and repetitive movements and Shikamaru was falling asleep because it was relaxing and reminded him of when as a child his mother brushed it after the evening bath; Deidara’s hands were small and delicate just like his mother’s so he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the brush in his hair and the rustling of the cards.

He would have liked to read an adventure book but perhaps he could spend the afternoon sleeping next to Deidara listening to them play cards.

-

Itachi was immensely annoyed. If he was prone to use a more vulgar language, _like Naruto or worse Hidan_ , he would surely have used another word to define his state. But. But Itachi wasn’t vulgar so he was immensely annoyed.

At the institute, after Hidan’s four days of solitary confinement and what had brought him into isolation, a sleepy air was breathed. There was no other way to describe it. Everyone spoke less, more quietly; everyone was calmer, as if sedated, and this annoyed him immensely. Of course he had more time to reflect, but he didn’t like this relaxed atmosphere because Itachi never relaxed. _What's going on?_ This situation reminded him of when he was little and in winter he would sit on the sofa wrapped in a soft blanket and watch the snow accumulating in the garden. It was that kind of relaxation. But it was almost summer and nobody at the institute was ever so relaxed. _Ever_. And that bothered him.

Sitting in the armchair in front of the windows of the library Itachi watched the others in the garden: Naruto, Hidan, Deidara and Shikamaru were playing football, Iruka and Ino were cheering from the sidelines sitting on the bench. Kakashi had just came back inside for his individual session and had left the door open and Itachi was annoyed by that small detail, too. Hashirama and Madara were lying on the ground near a tree, Madara in the shade and Hashirama in the sun, and they were smoking a cigarette with their hands in contact.

Itachi couldn’t see very well from that distance but he thought they had their pinkies intertwined. And that bothered him, too.

The hand holding the cup of juice trembled when a sudden thunder struck and some of the liquid poured on his thigh. Itachi stared at the stain intensely, even more annoyed. The sky was quickly darkening and then suddenly began to flood.

Hidan retrieved the ball and everyone ran inside to avoid getting wet and Itachi watched them file inside quickly and close the door behind them.

Itachi stared at the detail of Hashirama’s arms stretching upwards, above her head. _Those two were still lying on the lawn_. They were lying on the lawn, while it flooded, as if it wasn’t, as if they did not have a problem in the world, as if they did not have a thought in the world. Itachi was more than immensely annoyed.

Another thunder.

And Itachi saw Madara turn to his side and prop himself up on his elbow and then stare at Hashirama. He saw them stand up at the same time and then he saw Madara put his hands on Hashirama’s hips and Hashirama circle his neck with her arms.

And then they started to dance.

They started dancing under the flood. As if they didn’t have a thought in the world.

_They started dancing under the flood as if they didn't have a thought in the world._

_With their long, long hair glued to their foreheads and their necks and their backs. And the clothes stuck on their bodies._

_And Madara smiled when Hashirama put her head on his chest. He smiled sweetly and in love. So in love when Hashirama laid her head on his chest._

_And they danced under the flood as if they hadn't a thought in the world, and feeling in love._

Itachi hated them. And he clenched his fist around the juice cup in his hand. And the liquid stained his thigh and the fabric of the armchair.

Itachi hated them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: I'm always here to answer to you questions, if you have some, so please feel free to pester me!
> 
> Until next time!  
> -Hh


	5. The wrong side of the fence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!  
> I want to thank you all for supporting this story.  
> I just have a few things to say.  
> First of all is that I have struggled with this chapter but, in the end, I like the way it came out even if it is different from what I have imagined; I hope you’ll like it, too.  
> Secondly is that I already have the last two chapters outlined but since this is a rather sad story in the current situation I'm not exactly motivated to write this; I don't want to add sad thoughts to an already sad situation so the updates will slow down considerably.
> 
> This said I leave you to the story. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Hh

Naruto was at the institute because, after breaking two shelves and a mailbox and being caught having sex with sixteen different people sixteen times in a week, his parents had thought he needed help. And he needed help because his dick was hurting and _he couldn't fuck if his dick was hurting_.

-

Deidara had a choice. Or rather he hadn’t because the sound of the fires, that perfect roar was an heavenly symphony in his ears. And so with Hidan he had set the school’s gardener’s tool shed on fire. And he hadn’t regretted it. But then he had left the courtroom with his family, Ino was crying in Naruto’s arms, Naruto’s knuckles were white and cracked and still bloodied and his arms were trembling; his mother was crying silently and breathing heavily and his father had driven to the institute and five of them had walked in but only four had come out.

-

Ino had seen his older brother enter the institute and then his younger brother too and now the house was always silent and unlit and his mother was sad and his father always worked late. And then Ino had stopped eating and going out because people always judged you. And after twenty-six days locked in her room her father had taken her in his arms, had lie her down in the back seat of their car, in that seat where the three of them _used to sit_ _before_ , and had taken her to the institute. And Naruto and Deidara were at the entrance and before Ino could understand what was happening she was in their arms and was promising that she would never let them go.

-

Shikamaru was at the institute because his mother didn’t know how to take care of him anymore. After the accident she hadn’t even known how to take care of herself, really. It had lasted seven and a half months. Then the neighbors had called the social services and Shikamaru had never seen his mother again because he had entered the institution. Shikamaru didn’t even know what had happened to his mother.

-

Hidan had entered the institute because his uncles wanted to help him and above all because the choice was between the institute and the prison and therefore there was really no real choice. He had helped Deidara to set that shed on fire and then escaping he had beaten up two guys who had wanted to stop them, with a whole series of other things, actually. All in all, the institute wasn’t a bad place for him.

-

Iruka had wanted to enter the institute and so he had asked his parents; he had explained that it was the safest place for him and that the voices inside his head agreed. So his mother had helped him pack a suitcase, and two days later Iruka had entered the institute for the first time without being afraid to enter a building that was not his home.

-

Itachi was at the institute because his parents were afraid of him, or for him. They had had six sessions with a psychologist and then they had taken him to the institute. That morning in front of the doors Itachi was holding his suitcase in one hand and in the other an envelope that the psychologist had given him; he had to give it to Dr. Tsunade.

-

Kakashi was at the institute because otherwise he would have died. His friend from the university, who lived two doors down on the left in his own apartment complex, had broken down his door after he had not left the house for ten days; he had found him lying on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood, arms, legs and torso full of cuts. Kakashi had left the apartment on a stretcher and had never come back; he was brought into the emergency room of the hospital on a stretcher and had left from the main entrance twenty days later in a wheelchair pushed by a psychologist. In that same wheelchair pushed by that same psychologist, he had entered the institute and had never left since.

-

Madara had cold hands, he had always had cold hands; the rest of his body was warm but his hands were cold. And it had never been a problem because Madara knew that his cold fingers, when he gently passed them over Hashirama’s face, helped her to slow things down in her head.

Only when they were showering did they get hot.

Hot and Hashirama had just passed him the shampoo and Madara squeezed some on his hands, which were now warm, and then started soapy her hair as the steam moved slowly around them. Hashirama stood still, giving him her back, and Madara knew that her eyes were closed but he smiled anyway and continued to wash her hair. He touched her elbow and then turned to give her his back and shortly afterwards Hashirama’s hands were in _his hair_ and she was slowly massaging his scalp and behind his ears in the spot that Madara preferred.

She touched his shoulder and he grabbed the siphon and took the foam off the both of them and kept the hot water running over their bodies until it all slipped away and then he took the conditioner, squeezed some on Hashirama’s small hands, which she had already placed between them with her palms upwards, and gave her his back again and let her run her slim fingers through his hair.

Hashirama pulled one lock of his hair and _one, two, three, four_ and Madara turned around to apply the conditioner to Hashirama’s hair as well. He put some bath foam on the new sponge, green this month, and began to apply it to Hashirama’s shoulders and back, her hips and then her legs.

He touched her knee twice and she turned around and Madara began to pass the sponge along her legs and then on her belly, breasts, arms and neck; lastly her shoulders because _there was a scar on the right one_ and Madara had to breathe hard through his nose three times before he could continue.

Hashirama waited patiently, with her eyes closed, until he took her hand and put the sponge on her palm, then Madara closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of the sponge passing over his body led by Hashirama. She touched his hip and Madara gave her his back again and then he opened his eyes and the sponge caressed his back and then his shoulders, arms and when Hashirama squeezed his hand he squeezed hers back and they stayed still in that position for a moment until she touched his shoulder again.

When there wasn’t even a bit of foam left Madara wrapped a towel around Hashirama and then put one around his waist, wrapped his hair in another towel and then covered Hashirama’s hair with another one and only then, with Hashirama still with her eyes closed but relaxed and _soft_ , _compliant_ , did he bend over to touch her lips with his own.

The contact was as light as a butterfly, as it had been the very first time, and Madara breathed calmly. He took her in his arms and she circled his hips with her legs and put her head on his shoulder and Madara walked to their room leaving wet footprints on the carpet.

Showering washed away the thoughts, water had always washed away the thoughts, and Madara was fine, and his hands were warm and he could draw circles on Hashirama’s back.

-

Obsessive disorder. Obsessive disorder. _Obsessive disorder_. Tsunade had added _obsessive disorder_ to the set of things that kept him at the institute. Itachi didn’t have an obsessive disorder. Itachi had to know things but he didn’t have an obsessive disorder.

He closed the files and put it back in place with the others. _Their files weren't there_. They had to be in Jiraiya’s office. He closed the door behind him and walked quietly towards the other office; he reached the door and stopped.

_He had an obsessive disorder. He didn’t care_. _It didn’t matter._

He opened the door with the keys Naruto had given him and slipped inside. He grabbed the folders, surprisingly thin, and sat down on the floor. The files were empty. _Empty_. Just general information. Name, age, weight, medical history after entering the first institution and photo ID. _Nothing_.

The medical history only showed a couple of fractures and injuries all on Madara. There was nothing. Not a note. Not a reason why they were at the institute. _Nothing!_

Itachi put the files back where they belong and headed to the library. He found them on the couch, like that first night, so he sat in the chair and looked at them, like that first night. Hashirama had her head reclined backwards and was lying with her eyes closed _and her glasses still on_ , and Madara was lying on his back with his head on her thighs, _why are they sleeping in the library?_

“What’s troubling you, Shooting-star?” _Hashirama wasn't sleeping._ “You.” _He could ask them._ “Our presence or your idea of us?”

Itachi clenched his fist and tightened his lips. Hashirama and Madara moved at the same time _they always do this, how do they do this?_ with a fluid movement and went out leaving him alone in the library.

-

“Hashirama, are you listening to me?”

Hmm. _Yes and no_. Or rather, part of her brain had listened to what Jiraiya had kept saying but everything else in her mind was simply doing something else, it wasn’t her fault and, simply, she didn’t care. Actually they, or rather only Jiraiya because her contribution was almost non-existent, had already had this conversation twice in the last year and a half; in her head this situation had been repeated seven times with seven different outcomes. Sometimes it was difficult to distinguish between real things and the worlds in her head, especially when her brain was working on too many things at once.

Hashirama didn’t know at what point of the conversation they were so she simply managed a short sound to make the therapist understand that at least she was _there_ present to herself and in that room; that that wasn’t true, it didn’t matter and Jiraiya simply couldn’t know because he still knew nothing.

In her head the words from the astronomy theory she had read the week before were colliding and overlapping with a scene from a movie she wasn’t even sure she had really seen or if it was just another product of her mind, while another part was processing the information about Itachi and. _Just everything else her head usually did_. In one of the worlds she was a teacher and _there_ she was making lesson plan for the next day of school, in another she was running away from something or running towards something, _she wasn't sure_ , then there was the part about memories. _And just everything else her head usually did_. Her head was like that and she had always lived in her head.

Hashirama focused on the lessons she was going to teach in that hypothetical world, and reduced everything else to a low buzz; that was the less strange world, the most normal one, the easiest and she didn’t care that she would get a headache because she had always lived with headaches, too. _Hmm_. She emitted another sound of acknowledgment. Madara was planning something and _oh_.

They’d gotten to _that_ point in the speech. Hashirama didn’t really understand the therapist-patient dynamics but she wasn’t sure theirs was normal; she was under the impression that usually the patient was the one who talked while the therapist listened. _Hmm_.

There were no improvements. Hashirama already knew that. There could not be improvements; maybe in Madara but Hashirama didn’t really believe it. Jiraiya had stopped talking and Hashirama formed a sad smile on her lips before asking “Do you really hope we’ll get out of here someday?” Hashirama didn’t understand Jiraiya’s emotions. Perhaps she didn’t understand emotions in general, she really didn’t know. She knew that she had to show sadness and sorrow, or something along that way, because that was the expected reaction to the prospect of only getting out of a psychiatric hospital _dead_ but actually Hashirama didn’t care.

It was the same, at the institute or elsewhere. As far as she was concerned, they could kick them out that same night and her life would not so much as stir because Madara would be by her side and that was really all Hashirama would even need to keep existing. Jiraiya massaged his eyes and Hashirama tilted her head.

One of the seven times this conversation had happened in her head Jiraiya had cried; Hashirama didn’t know why, she had never cried. “Hashirama, if you’re not honest with me, I can’t help you.” _Hmm. Yes and no_. Hashirama didn't care. She just said “Okay.” because that was what Jiraiya wanted even though she didn’t understand.

-

In the new institute there were some strange traditions: each patient was assigned a square in the inner garden to cultivate with whatever they wanted, on each patient’s birthday a cake was brought and a photo was taken and hung together with the others in the common room, Sunday afternoon was dedicated to family visits, on the tenth of each month an educational outing was organized outside the institute and, finally, at the end of the month an association brought puppies, small dogs and kittens, and the day was entirely dedicated to animals.

Madara and Hashirama had not yet taken part in any of these traditions. Jiraiya hadn’t assigned them any pieces of the garden, since they had arrived at the institute no one had yet reached their birthday, they had no family, as far as they could remember, and as far as interacting with the puppies or taking part in the educational outings Jiraiya had thought it was too early and that they had to settle down.

Too early for what and acclimatize to what Madara didn’t know but honestly he didn’t care: as long as Hashirama was fine the rest wasn’t important. And _Hashirama was fine_ , by his standards at least, so he simply went on with their daily routine.

Madara squeezed Hashirama’s ankle and she turned her head in his direction. “Remè, she’et floraji?” She blinked open one eye and Madara stared, _calm_ , until she answered “Jitàl.” Madara went back to his book and to his planning their date. _He could give her everything._

They walked towards Jiraiya’s office, Hashirama sat in front of the door, Madara entered and stated “I want a piece of garden.” The therapist nodded and smiled slightly and Madara breathed deeply, sit on the chair and explained curtly what he wanted.

After thirty minutes he nearly ripped open the door and finally started breathing again. _Hashirama was there. Madara breathed._

-

His file read _traumatized, self-harming, depressed_.

He had always known about the depression even if he didn’t know when it had started. Kakashi had only had one major episode of self-harming because his previous attempts were just a teen fooling around and trying to feel better in that way every teen at least once tried.

Traumatized. That was something. Kakashi really didn’t know when he had been first traumatized.

Perhaps when he was eight years old and had found his father’s body in a pool of blood; to this day Kakashi didn’t even know if his father was murdered or had committed suicide.

Or maybe when he was only five and his dog was run over. He should have been the one laying on the concrete bleeding out to death. His dog had saved him. And ended up dead.

Or maybe when two of his classmates overdosed holding hands. Kakashi had been watching the whole time, paralyzed. He was eighteen. And then the police had found a letter. They had committed suicide because they loved each other and their family didn’t want them together. Kakashi would have given up everything for having a family again. That day he decided that he was better alone.

Or maybe, at fifteen, when in the orphanage the oldest of the caretaker had abused him. Kakashi wasn’t even sure that could be called rape. He was fifteen, he wanted to have sex and she was there and he had kind of agreed. The police officers had said it was rape when they had found him tied to the bed. Kakashi had not even enjoyed the sex. That had been his first and last attempt at sex. Two months later he had asked to be emancipated. And she was sent in jail.

And then he tried to bleed to death during the winter holiday of his second year in college and was sent to the institute. He had met Iruka two weeks later, when he first exited his room. Kakashi didn’t even know how old Iruka was. The only thing he knew was that Iruka had never asked nothing from him.

Iruka simply existed and his calm and dreamy demeanor had drown Kakashi. Kakashi didn’t know what they were but they cuddled when one of them had an episode, and they hold hands sometimes and Iruka had never asked anything at all, simply accepted what Kakashi was.

And maybe his file read _traumatized, self-harming, depressed_ but there was so much more to him than that and Kakashi had let Iruka known it all without even realizing it and without even saying a word out loud because Iruka existed right next to him. So Kakashi held loosely the yellow watery can in one hand and tightly the hem of Iruka’s uniform in the other and kept watering his eggplants.

-

Madara and Hashirama were at the institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and let me know what do you think of this chapter.  
> As always your inputs are very much appreciated!
> 
> -Hh


End file.
